


interstice

by solangewrites



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solangewrites/pseuds/solangewrites
Summary: Steve Harrington is an idiot. Billy Hargrove is an asshole. They're both just trying to figure out this nightmare called living. And they can't seem to escape each other. (Whether they really want to... well that's another matter altogether.)





	1. A Kind of a Backstory

“God will let a little light in through this crack in our plans,” his mother says as she sits on the edge of the bathtub, white stick with the pink plus sign hanging from her fingertips. Billy sits at her feet, smiling as she plays with his hair. He’s a little too young to understand what it means. Until his father gets home and there’s screaming and mom tells him to go to his room and then he hears a very loud thump and he runs out and she’s on the floor and _mama won’t wake up_ and dad tells him she tripped and they sit in the hospital for a very long time and she never comes back. 

Billy learned a long time ago to add a “yes sir” to every sentence and to never talk back but now he learns a couple more things. He doesn’t have packed lunches anymore so he figures out which kids are good for a little shakedown and walks to the 7/11 after school to drop a pile of nickels and dimes on the counter for a hotdog and a milky way. A lady on the bus back is nice and she gives him a peppermint from her purse, but he’s late for dinner and so he doesn’t get any. Those are the rules. He’s glad it’s not worse.

Billy learns that as much as his father seems to hate everyone, what he hates even more is being alone. Or maybe he’s afraid of it. By the time Billy is sixteen, he’s lost his virginity, gotten two tattoos, been arrested more times than he’d care to admit, and his father has been through at least six girlfriends. So when a pretty little ginger named Susan rolls up, he doesn’t expect her to last. But she does- and so does her kid.

And then it all goes to hell.

Billy forgets to lock the door, forgets when his dad will be home, forgets to be _careful_ , and his stupidity does not go unpunished. His father’s fist enters his periphery and Billy is simply resigned as he feels the bones grind in his face. The brunette boy on his bed yelps, tries to move to help but Billy shoves him away from him and his father. 

“Get the fuck out of here.” Billy spits blood, and watches the boy scurry for his clothes and out the door.

Billy may have learned not to talk back-at least not when he can help it- but he’s still got his father’s independence, his mother’s dangerous curiosity. He thinks a normal parent would’ve taken him to the hospital. Instead, Billy nurses a probably-broken rib and a black eye and whole other clusterfuck of petty injuries and packs his shit up.

His father tells everyone it’s for Maxine. That California is no place for a growing girl. Maxine loves California, but she doesn’t know his father. His father gives Maxine an allowance, lets her join clubs at school. She thinks he’s alright. Better than the other boyfriends her mom’s had. At least he’s stuck around. Billy hates Maxine. His father is fine with a lot of things. He doesn’t care when Billy comes back, if he’s got any liver left functioning, how many girls he screws around with. That’s all normal healthy boy stuff. But no son of his can be a queer. Maxine doesn’t know exactly what happened, but she’s not an idiot. She sees the bruises on Billy’s face, the way his father _does not look at him_. She probably thinks he was out fighting. As if. For that, his father would either pound him on the back(if he won) or (if he lost) tell him to quit being a pussy.

Billy isn’t planning on spending a second longer in Hawkins than he absolutely has to. And then he meets Steve Harrington and almost has his dick nailed to the floor in a creepy ass house in the woods and everything is suddenly very different. 


	2. In Which Billy Meets Robin

Billy Hargrove got his looks from his mother, but he got his father’s tunnel vision. Something catches his eye and he has to have it, to figure it out, to find out how it ticks. To pull it apart and dissect it and see each individual component laid bare. Some would call it a flaw, others an asset. But it’s just how he works. So when he sees Steve Harrington scooping icecream in an incredibly stupid sailor outfit-complete with matching hat!- he can’t resist walking over.

“Well hey there, pretty boy,” Billy chuckles, unable to stop himself. He sees Steve’s back stiffen before he turns and gives him a deadeyed expression.

“Ahoy.” Steve replies, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“You have to do the jingle, Steve.” A blonde girl remarks smugly from where she sits on the counter.

“Robin.” Steve hisses.

“It’s company protocol, Steve.” She fires back.

“It’s company protocol.” Billy repeats with a shrug. Steve grits his teeth and looks Billy dead in the eyes.

“Welcome to Scoops Ahoy! Are you ready to set sail on an ocean of flavor?”

“Wow.” Billy grins, unable to himself. “That was inspired.”

“Just tell me what kind of ice cream you want, Hargrove, and get out of my hair.”

“Finding my way out of  _ your _ hair? That’s gonna be quite the expedition, I suspect. How many cans of hairspray do you go through a day, do you think? Six? Eight?” Billy strokes his chin contemplatively and Steve crosses his arms across his chest.

The girl-Robin, Steve called her-lets out a snort and slides off the counter.

“That’s nice of you. I’d put it at at least ten. Billy Hargrove, right?”

“And you’re Robin…?”

“Robin Buckley.” She sticks a hand out and he shakes it. Steve lets out a huff and starts swiping at the counter with a cheery striped towel.

“You know, I’ve been stuck with this dingus everyday this summer, but I haven’t seen you around before.” Robin comments, arching an eyebrow.

“I haven’t spent much time at the mall. I lifeguard.”

“Sounds sweaty.” She wrinkles her nose and he chuckles. She has no idea.

“You wouldn’t believe how many heaving middle-aged chests I’ve been exposed to.” 

Robin winces and laughs.

“Wow, that’s a  _ really _ horrible fate for an eighteen year old guy, truly.”

“More so than you would think.” Billy replies mildly. Robin’s eyes flick up with something curious in them, and their gazes meet. Her mouth opens slightly then closes. She coughs and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“So, did you want to try something or did you just come here to make little Stevie squirm?” She asks. 

“Mmm, how bout a little bit of both?”

“Sounds good to me.” She smiles. “I’m gonna go get some more spoons from the back. Steve, try not to embarrass yourself too much.” 

She leaves through a swinging door in the back and Steve flicks a towel over his shoulder and places his hands on hips. 

“So?”

“What kind of customer service is that?”

Billy’s cool dissipates somewhat now the girl is gone. Girls are easy. He knows how to work them. High school boys too. But not Steve. Maybe at one time, he was. Was someone stereotypical and easy to read and easy to fight. But he’s changed. At least, if the old King Steve stories hold any merit. He’s something deeper. More dangerous in that he’s above it all.

“Billy, please.” Steve says in a tired voice. “I’ve been here since eight and I have to go pickup six little shits and take them to the arcade and I’m just not really feeling like a fight or whatever weird shit you want to pull right now.”

Billy tilts his head. 

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever used my name. I like it.”

Steve gapes slightly then shuts his mouth, flushed. Billy clears his throat, embarrassed at the lapse.

“Uh, I’ll take a scoop of vanilla in a cone. Please.”

“Please? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that from you.” Steve scoffs, grabbing a cone.

“I’m uh, I’m trying some new shit.” Billy mumbles. “Didn’t you notice how nice I was to your buddy?”

“You want to get in her pants. That’s not the same thing.” Steve deadpans, Billy shrugs. Apparently Steve’s relationship blindness doesn’t just extend to himself. Anyone with two eyes could’ve seen the way that girl stared mooney-eyed at half the cheerleading squad.

“And vanilla? Not what I would’ve expected from you.”

“And what would you have expected?”

“Something… Extravagant. Maybe a banana split.”

“Bummed you missed out on that visual, Stevie?” Billy pouts, leaning in. Steve’s eyes flick up and his cheeks color slightly.

“Bummed I missed out on that extra $2.50.” Steve fires back, dropping his change into Billy’s outstretched palm.

“Well, you know, sometimes there’s nothing like the classic.”

Billy gives him one last grin and then pauses. He pulls his wallet out and stuffs a five in the tip jar. Steve looks at him suspiciously but doesn’t say anything.

Robin comes out of the back carrying a brown paper box. She gives him a wave.

“Bye Billy! Come back anytime!”

Billy nods and winks at her before sauntering off, licking up a drip from the side of his cone. 

“You know, you didn’t have to flirt with him.” Steve whispers angrily, the slightest hint of… could it be? Yes, indeed, there was a suspicious hint of  _ jealousy _ tinging his voice. Robin snorts in disbelief.

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”


	3. In Which Billy Has a Minor Existential Crisis

Billy slides into his car and immediately smacks his head against the wheel.

“Why the fuck was I so nice?” Billy whispers to himself in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. “Stupid, stupid fucking Billy.”

As if it mattered. It wasn’t like Robin Buckley or Steve Fucking Harrington would be feeding the rumor mill about Billy getting soft. Or like he even had a reputation to uphold. There was no more school. He’d graduated. Wow. What a weird ass concept.

But still. He was… well, he was fucking embarassed. Sure, it’d been delicious to watch Steve squirm, but he also kind of hated himself. Not that that was anything new.

The door open suddenly and Billy startles, sitting straight up. Max slides into the passenger seat and looks at him anxiously. Had she seen him losing his shit? He coughs and starts the car. The clock flicks on and he relaxes. Oh. She was late. He’s supposed to be mad. He can’t really bring himself to give a shit right now.

“You’re late.” He says brusquely, pulling out.

“Sorry.” She replies.

They leave it at that.

Billy drops Max at home.

“I’ve got plans.” He informs her, sliding on a pair of aviators. She nods and heads inside without question. Billy usually has plans. Tonight, he doesn’t actually, but he figures he can pick some up without much trouble.

Billy heads to the liquor store off main. It’s usually pretty empty, and the cashier will look the other way if you slide an extra couple bills across the counter. He picks out a bottle of whiskey. Well, two. And of course, a new pack of marlboro reds.

He steps outside of the store with his brown paper bag and almost into Tommy whats-his-face. Billy doesn’t much like Tommy. He’s a rat-faced tryhard who peaked in high school. He’s pretty sure Tommy works at the gas station now, not that it matters. They only see each other at parties. That’s the function of Tommy. He can hook shit up.

“Hey man.” Billy greets him. Tommy grins, clearly elated at his find.

“Hey Billy. You got plans tonight?”

* * *

  
“Come  _ on _ , Steve. You may not be cool now, but you’ve still got more residual social power than I’ve ever had.” Robin whines, twirling a cherry stem between her fingers. Steve shakes his head.

“No. Absolutely not. Literally everyone hates me.”

“That’s bullshit. That uh, Nancy chick likes you. I think. And Billy! He definitely likes you. Why else would he come to a stupid ass place like this?”

“Maybe for some ice cream?”

“C’mon, our ice cream is not that good. Please, Steve. I’m so damn bored.”

Steve doesn’t want to say yes. He wants to go home, change out of this stupid sailor outfit, drink himself to sleep and hope for no nightmares. Robin lets out a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll clean the soft serve machine tomorrow.” She offers.

Steve says yes.

* * *

Billy goes fast. One drink leads to another leads to a dance leads to some girl in the corner he prys himself away from for another drink and then of course a keg stand because that’s his whole fucking reputation is as some fucking  _ keg stand champion _ and then he has to piss and then he has another shot of something-he’s-not-sure-what and then somehow he finds himself in the kitchen and

Steve Harrington is there. Steve’s making-no, it can’t be-

“Is that a rootbeer float?” Billy blurts before he can help himself. He comes up behind Steve, who stiffens, screwing the lid back on the bottle

“Yes.” 

“How the hell are you not sick of icecream by now?”

Steve just shrugs and takes a sip of his concoction. It looks pretty good, actually. Billy takes a swig of his whiskey and winces slightly at the sting. 

“Why won’t you look at me, Harrington? Why don’t you… why don’t you talk to me?” Billy mumbles, lips loose with drink, bold from the liquid fire in his belly.

“Really? That’s an actual fucking question you’re going to ask me?” Steve crosses his arms across his chest and leans against the counter. There’s a chunk of foam on his upper lip but Billy doesn’t tell him. It’s endearing.

“Yes.” Billy says unsteadily. He slides into a chair at the counter. Steve fixes him with an intense look. Billy doesn’t quite feel safe. He likes it.

“Where do I even start? Maybe with the fact that you terrorized a fucking kid because what? He’s black? Maybe because you smashed a goddamn plate over my head?”

“Because he’s black? Jesus, that’s not  _ why _ . He was fucking yelling at Maxine. Almost made the little shit cry. I don’t like her, but she’s family and I’m not letting some random ass kid mess with my family. She doesn’t need anymore goddamn trouble outside of us.”

What Billy doesn’t tell him is how his father sat him down in the sixth grade and gave him an impassioned speech about the exact  _ kinds of people _ he was allowed to hang out with. He doesn’t tell him that he knows Max’s flirting with danger, that some part of him wants her to always think his father is some okay guy, to never have to show up to school and explain away a bruise. Or about the beating he took from his father when Miss Maxine didn’t show up for breakfast. Because that’s just _ life _ .

“You didn’t have to hit him! Or me!” Steve exclaims, hair quivering. Billy wants to touch it. And then something in his brain clicks.

“Wait a minute, why the fuck were you at that house anyway?” Billy counters, suddenly standing. “That was creepy as hell. What secrets are you keeping locked up, pretty boy?”

Steve swallows and looks down.

“I can’t tell you that, Billy.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Steve replies with such firmness that Billy can’t help but believe him.

“But I can tell you no-one was trying to get your sister into any shit.” Steve says plaintively, taking another swig of his drink.

Billy doesn’t correct him. He had pulled the family bit, after all. He decides to change tactics.

“Can I have some of that?” He asks. Steve pauses with the cup halfway to his lips. He hands it over. Billy takes a sip. He licks his lips. Then he leans in close. Close enough so he can smell the sweetness of Steve’s breath.

“What’s it going to take for you to tell me a secret, pretty boy?”


	4. In Which Steve Makes an Offer

Billy’s close in, breath warm on the shell of Steve’s ear. Close enough to hear Steve swallow. He pulls back and takes another swig of his drink. He’s not exactly sure what it is, now he takes a sip. There’s definitely a kick to it, though.

Steve looks him up and down. At first his face is full of the same old wariness Billy’s gotten so sick of. Harrington’s not gonna tell him anything, Billy thinks to himself. He was an idiot to think otherwise, he snorts to himself.

“Ah fuck!” He curses, suspiciously bright drink coming out through his nose. It burns like fuck-all else. He clutches for a dishcloth and blows his nose heavily. Steve lets out a choked noise that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh.

Billy looks up at him through red eyes, a little pissed off. He’s not gonna hit Harrington, though. That’d be stupid. Also, he’s drunk enough now to realize that he couldn’t do shit in a fight. And besides, Steve isn’t looking at him mockingly. He looks… well, he looks different. More comfortable, somehow.

  
  


“Apologize to the kid. Then… maybe we can talk.” Steve says. Billy groans and rests his head on the counter. How the fuck will that look natural?

Steve picks up his drink and starts to leave.

“Harrington,” Billy mumbles, facedown.

“What?” Steve pauses.

“Suck my dick.” Steve lets out an irritated huff and Billy giggles, unable to help himself.

“In your wet dreams, Hargrove.”


	5. In Which Billy Receives Two Invitations

When Billy wakes up the next morning, he’s sweaty and his head hurts like nothing else. He rubs his face with one hand and curses when he realizes it’s sticky and smells like booze. He reluctantly lifts his head and blearily blinks, taking in his surroundings. A cheery yellow kitchen littered with crumpled cans and other garbage. He picks himself up, walks to the sink, and sticks his head under the faucet for a drink. He splashes his face with some of the water and sniffs.

Had he really just passed out here after talking to Harrington? God. What had he even said? He vaguely remembers something to do with ice cream. Oh. Shit. He was a fucking idiot. Why couldn’t he have just done a keg stand, slept with some blandly attractive girl, and left it at that? Well. He knows why. But he’s not going to think about that.

Billy drives home in silence, head buzzing unbearably. He goes straight to bed. That doesn’t last long.

“Billy, you’re going to make me late.” Max says, interrupting his peace.

“Hwumpghjhdj.” Billy replies, stuffing his face under a pillow. He just wants to sleep until his head doesn’t feel like it’s full of angry bees.

“Billy.”

The second he hears his father’s voice, Billy sits up. He blinks quickly and is immensely grateful he kept his clothes on.

“What did we talk about? Maxine has plans. You have the  _ responsibility _ to  _ respect _ her plans by getting her there on time.” His father says, steely eyes fixed on him. Billy knows he won’t hit him. Not in front of Maxine. But there’s a threat in those words, no denying it.

“Yes sir.” Billy grits out. His father leaves and he lets out a breath. “Let me grab my keys. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Max rolls her eyes and bounces off, skateboard under her arm. She’s so fucking oblivious. Billy wants to shake her sometimes. Instead he takes a deep breath, grabs his keys, swishes some mouthwash around, grimaces at his expression and leaves.

* * *

Of fucking course. When he pulls up to the pool, who should be there but Steve Harrington and Mrs. Wheeler. He wishes Maxine would branch out and get more friends. Ones who weren’t possibly involved in cults or witchcraft or such bullshit.

“Be back here in two hours or you’re walking home, Henderson!” Steve calls after the curly haired kid. There’s no malice in his tone. Billy watches him over the tops of his mirrored sunglasses, until a tap on his window startles him.

“Hi there!” It’s Mrs. Wheeler. He rolls his window down and plasters on a grin. She beams back. She’s a very pretty woman, no denying. Dressed in a bright pink floral suit and denim shorts with her hair poofed up to an improbable height and perfectly applied magenta lipstick, she’s a wet hot American summer dream. Just not for him.

“Mrs. Wheeler! How’re you doin? You look spectacular.”   
  


“Oh, Billy,” She giggles, smoothing down the front of her shorts, “you’re a dear. I’m great. How are you?”

“Never better.” It’s not technically a lie.

“Great… great… Anyway, we’re having some friends over for the Fourth of July. Just like a little cookout, some fireworks in the backyard, the regular stuff. We were hoping you and Maxine could make it. Nancy and some of her friends will be there... You know Steve, don’t you?”

“I sure do. We were on the basketball team together.” Billy has fond memories of that team.

“Oh, yes! He’s got a great arm, doesn’t he?”

“Two, actually.” He smiles a little wider at the way she flushes. Yeah he’s a little mean, but he’s also a little hungover and a known asshole. Besides, she laughs.

“Oh, of course. So, um. You already know our address.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“We’re gonna start cooking around four but you two come on by whenever you want. Alright! I’ve gotta go grab some groceries!” She fixes a hair and gives him another smile. She really is pretty. He feels a little sorry for her. What is her life past groceries and cookouts and dropping off and picking up? Then again, what’s his life past- nope. Not going there.

“Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Please. Call me Karen.”

“Thank you, Karen.”

She walks away and Billy lets out a sigh and grabs a cigarette from the glove compartment. Jesus. He needs a nap and a tylenol and probably some, like, actual food. His passenger door opens and Billy jumps.

“Hey.” It’s Steve, sliding in as if he’s done it a dozen times before. 

“Jesus!” Billy almost drops his lit cigarette and fixes Steve with a glare. “What the fuck?”

“Didn’t you wear that yesterday?” Steve asks, looking him up and down and Billy runs a hand through his hair, thrown off guard. He sticks his cigarette between his teeth and adjusts his sunglasses self-consciously. 

“I had a wild night, Harrington, what can I say?”

Steve snorts.

“Do you want to get lunch?” He asks suddenly. Billy regards him suspiciously. Steve’s never… initiated anything before. 

“Why?” Billy asks, restlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I’m bored. I know you are too. And I know this place off main that makes a damn good milkshake.” 

Billy considers him for a weighted moment. There’s nothing malicious in his face. His eyes are big and brown and his lips are pink and annoyingly smooth and his hair is luscious and ridiculous as always. Nothing out of the ordinary. Billy deflates, letting the air rush out of his chest.

“Sure.”

Steve gives him a crooked half smile and Billy swallows hard.

“Meet you at Sal’s in fifteen minutes?”

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Billy says with a mock salute.

Steve rolls his eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

  
  



	6. In Which Billy Gets a Sugar High

In Which Billy Gets a Sugar High

They sit in a red backed booth with a slightly sticky table. The waitress smiles at them and recommends they check out the pies after lunch. It’s the best of Hawkins. Billy gets a burger and fries and demolishes them within ten minutes. Steve lingers over his combo and a ridiculously fluffy milkshake with a cherry on top. Billy watches him eat for a moment after he finishes and snags the cherry from its bed of whipped cream, sucking it in between his lips and biting off the sweet red meat with a flourish.

“You stole my cherry.” Steve grouses.

“Didn’t pop like I’d expected,” Billy pouts, twirling the stem between his fingertips.

Steve looks at him with a befuddled expression.

“Have you ever actually had a cherry before? They’re not  _ supposed _ to pop.”

Billy chuckles and knits his fingers together behind his head.

“Everyone’s had a cherry, Steve. But unlike you, I haven’t had one since I was fourteen.” 

Billy winks to punctuate his statement. Steve abruptly coughs on his drink and wipes his nose. 

“I’m not a- I don’t have-you’re not-” he splutters, cheeks turning beet red.

“Relax, pretty boy. Nancy Wheeler. I know.” Billy rolls his eyes. Who could miss all the gossip about the prom king and queen? Rumors ran rampant over what had fueled their split, but the most commonly agreed on was Jonathan Byers stealing her away with… whatever weird appeal he had apparently held for her. Billy can’t imagine choosing Jonathan Byers over  _ Steve fucking Harrington _ . It’s like choosing tap water over a glass of cherry coke. Stupid.

“Not just Nancy.” Steve mumbles.

“Oh really? Who then?” Billy leans forward, freshly interested. There’s plenty of whores at Hawkins High and it suddenly itches him to find out which ones ended up in King Steve’s bed.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” Steve retorts, eyes bright.

“So you’re a gentleman now? Because some of the stories I’ve heard…”

“That’s not who I am anymore.” Steve crosses his arms and meets Billy’s eyes.

“You’ll have to explain that to me soon.”

“You know the deal.”

Bill grins and snatches a fry from the edge of his plate. It’s salty and greasy and good on his tongue and he feels so much better than he did waking up. His muscles are loose and easy and his head doesn’t pound. He watches Steve daintily dip the edge of his burger into the splotch of ketchup on his plate and snorts.

“You are the prissiest eater I’ve ever seen.” He remarks.

“I’m  _ careful _ .” Steve replies defensively.

Billy wouldn’t mind staying in the booth for the rest of the day, watching Harrington priss his way through the rest of his food, but he doesn’t want to be late. He takes out his worn black wallet and drops a twenty on the table, more than enough for the both of their meals and then some. He gives Steve a nod before heading to the door and then pauses.

“Harrington!” Billy calls. “I’m sorry for beating your shit in.”

“Why are you doing this?” Steve’s head snaps up and he meets Billy’s eyes over the side of the booth.

“I’m not allowed to apologize?”

“Well it’s a little fucking weird.”

Billy scratches his neck.

“Yeah. I guess it is.” More than anything in this world, Billy doesn’t want to be his father. When he’s with Steve he feels more comfortable than with anyone else. Maybe he even has some small hope of not turning out another burnout douchebag. But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he lets the door swing behind him, slides into the smooth leather seat of his car, and turns the key.

  
  



	7. In Which Billy Stumbles

Billy’s late for dinner. Family dinner. Norman fucking Rockwell Sunday family night dinner. He forgot, got scheduled to close without thinking. And so he shows up at the house- it’s no kind of home, he knows that much- and meets his father at the door.

“You’re late.” Neil says with a growl. Billy’s confused for a second, then he glimpses Susan and Maxine at the table and he feels the bile rising in his throat.

“I forgot-” he starts to say, taking an instinctive step back. His father shuts the door behind him and it’s faint click is resounding. 

Neil’s voice is soft and that’s what scares Billy. 

“Susan put a lot of effort into tonight’s meal. We were all waiting for you.” 

Neil continues to walk slowly towards him and Billy shuffles back until he’s pressed against the side of his father’s car and there’s nowhere to go.

“I’m sorry.” Billy says numbly, knowing it’s not going to mean anything. It never does.

“You made a choice, Billy. A careless choice. You need to learn that your actions have consequences.”

“I was just at work!” Billy bursts out desperately. It’s a mistake, a stupid one. He’s never been good at controlling his tongue. He sees his father’s eyes glint.

“Shut your goddamn mouth.”

And with that Billy feels his father’s hand against the side of his face, sending him backwards into the side of the car. He hears his skull hitting the metal with a solid sound and feels his head explode in pain, knocking him off balance. He scrabbles against the side of the car for purchase but before he can find any, another blow sends him down to the biting gravel of the driveway. After that he loses count of the different hits, shutting his eyes tight and letting them fall.

Some time later, he opens his eyes and limply swats at a mosquito hovering over his face. His father is nowhere to be seen, and it’s dark out. The lights in the house are all out, and he knows the door will be locked, and he will not go in. This is part of his punishment. He chose his own stupid selfish shit over family dinner, so tonight, he is on his own. He feels for his keys and heaves a sigh of relief to find them in his pocket. At least he has his car. There’ve been nights when he’s not been so lucky.

He slowly makes his way to his car and eases himself into the front seat, peeling off the curb as quietly as he can. He slips down the quiet roads of Hawkins not quite sure where he’s going until he pulls to a stop in front of an imposing house. Harrington’s house. He makes his way out of the car and towards the door, pressing the bell with a finger as he leans on the solid door. He’s normally a knocker, but he doesn’t feel like any additional smacking could do him any good.

He closes his eyes for just a moment and then the door is opening behind him. He stumbles slightly and feels a strong hand stabilizing him.

“Woah, woah, woah-what the fuck?” 

He opens his eyes and smiles grimly at Harrington’s shocked expression. He knows he’s taking in the gruesome sights. Maybe it’s like a memory to him. Thinking of when his own face looked the same way, thanks to another goddamn Hargrove. 

“Come inside.” Steve says immediately. Billy obeys.

Steve leads him to a dimly lit bedroom and sits him down on the bed. It’s soft and big and hasn’t been slept in. Billy’s fingers idly trace over the comforter and he wonders if he’s staining it. It’s not a terrible thought, staining Steve Harrington’s sheets. Kinda wishes it wasn’t with blood, though.

“Stay here.” Steve tells him, heading to what must be a bathroom and flicking on the light.

Billy chuckles.

“Feeling bossy tonight, Harrington?”

There’s no reply and Billy’s skin itches. Steve comes back with a box in his hands.

“You’re lucky my parents aren’t here.” Steve murmurs. “They’d have a couple questions.”

He pulls out a cotton pad and starts dousing it in some sort of sharp smelling liquid.

“Big house…. no parents. Ever have nightmares, Harrington?” 

“I know monsters.”

“Me too.” Billy whispers, just loud enough for Steve to catch it. His eyes fill with something indescribable and then he’s leaning forward, gently pressing the pad to his cheek, wiping gently, pulling off blood and sweat and dirt.

Billy shuts his eyes, unable to handle how Steve’s looking at him. A few minutes later, Steve clears his throat.

“May I…?”

He gestures to Billy’s abdomen and Billy sighs. He nods and grits his teeth.

Billy’s breath hitches when Steve lifts the side of his shirt with slow, delicate,  _ careful _ fingers. Steve gazes at the pattern of bruises blossoming across Billy’s ribcage with horror evident in his face.

“Who did this to you?” Steve asks in a flat tone.

“None of your damn business.” Billy growls.

“I kind of think it is given that you’re bleeding out on  _ my _ bed.”

“Then I’ll leave.” Billy replies, standing abruptly. The words are clumsy coming out of his mouth, thick and stupid. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to let Steve clean him up and lay down in this bed and feel okay for the night. But he’s not getting the fucking cops involved. 

“Billy, calm down. Just stay here and think it through and-”

Steve is earnest and kind and a fucking idiot. Billy laughs, and a bubble of blood pops on the side of his mouth. It’s salty and metallic and sends little rivulets coursing down his chin. He knows he looks like a monster. God, who is he kidding? He is. He’s the nightmare.

Steve grabs his wrist and Billy bares his teeth.

Billy shoves Steve against the ground and stands over him, pale blue red-rimmed eyes locked on soft, wide, doe brown ones. He wipes his mouth with his hand and spits blood out to the side of Steve’s head.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

  
  



	8. In Which Billy Tells the Truth

“Billy.” Steve says again, so softly he almost can’t hear it. He doesn’t move to stand up, just stays on the floor, staring up at Billy, somehow unafraid.

Billy fucking hates it. The one thing he’s always been good is scaring the shit out of people, of running the halls, of having a _reputation_ , of being a fucking psychopath. Hit and get hit. He doesn’t fucking know what to do when his violence, his storm is met with quiet, with stillness.

“Get up.” Billy says, and it’s more of a plea than anything else. He hates the tremor in his voice. The uncertainty Harrington has brought him to. So he layers his words with extra venom, spits poison to cover his bewilderment.

Steve stands slowly, on his own. He continues to look Billy in the eye, steady and firm. Billy swallows hard, anxiety rising in his chest. He needs Steve to look away, to let him have a second to breathe. Steve doesn’t do that. Instead he takes in a deep breath, letting it whoosh out through his mouth in a heavy sigh.

“Breath, Billy. You’re okay. You’re safe here. You don’t have to say anything you… don’t want to.”

Billy’s throat loosens ever so slightly and suddenly he’s gasping for air without realizing he’d ever been starved of it.

“Water?” Steve asks, and Billy just nods, deflated. Steve nods back and then quickly leaves. Billy’s knees go weak and he collapses back on the bed. His side fucking hurts and he can feel a drop rolling down his face. He swipes at it and sighs. The welt on his cheekbone must have reopened. Fan-fucking-tastic. His head buzzes.

Harrington comes back and presses a glass into his hand, then sets down a neatly folded pile of clothes on the bed.

“What’re these?” Billy indicates them, voice gruff with tension. Stupid emotion.

“Just some sweats and tee shirt. Figured you’d wanna change out of your, um, bloody stuff. And take a shower?”

“Why are you being so goddamn nice to me, Harrington?”

“No one deserves this.” Steve says.

“This? You mean the exact fucking thing I did to you?”

“Why’d you come to my house if you didn’t expect me to help you?” Steve counters then, flushed.

“I thought you’d like, let me crash on your couch. Not fucking give me your clothes and play nursemaid.”

“Why, are you mad I’m trying to keep you from a fucking infection?”  


“No. Just surprised.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t deserve it.” Billy mumbles, looking at the ground. He’s not expecting the words when they come out of his mouth, but there’s no taking them back, and he’s not sure he’d want to if he could. It’s the truth, as bitter a thing as that may often be.

“Well that’s the thing about ‘doing the right thing’.” Steve says, standing with a grim smile on his face. “Doesn’t depend on whether someone deserves it. It’s still right.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> find me at solangewrites.tumblr.com


End file.
